Forget Me Not
by sesshomaru-sama68
Summary: When Rumplestiltskin senses Belle is feeling a bit down, he thinks of a way to cheer her up... with unexpected consequences. Set in the Dark Castle and just slightly AU. A somewhat bittersweet tale, but with a good deal of fluff. One-shot.


**"FORGET ME NOT"**

**_A Rumbelle One-Shot_**

Rumplestiltskin, though he outwardly appeared absent-minded and oblivious, was actually keenly observant; and what he had observed over the last few days troubled him. His pretty maid -he refused to let himself think of her as anything more- seemed rather subdued and quiet, which was quite the opposite of her normally chatty, radiant self. He didn't think he had offended her recently, and they had even formed a bit of an odd companionship. No, he didn't believe he was responsible for her solemn state. What then, was on her mind?

He couldn't simply ask her, that would reveal his secret: that he worried over her; that he considered her at all, really, aside from an amusing distraction. No, he must think of another way to determine the cause of her melancholia and break her from it. He couldn't have a forlorn maid sulking about the castle! He sat at his wheel and spun until an idea came to him. "Aha!" he exclaimed with a flourish, and sprang from his seat. "Belle! Oh, Belle!"

A few moments passed, then a sweet face framed by chestnut curls peered around the door frame. "Yes?"

"I need your help with something, m'dear," he explained, wiggling his slender fingers.

He thought he detected a small smile. "Oh?" Belle asked.

"Yes, yes, Dearie, something, ah, very important!"

Belle quirked a brow. "... and that would be...?"

He giggled. She would be surprised, for certain! "Flowers! I need your help picking flowers. Or, well, their seed pods anyway!"

This time, Belle raised both eyebrows. "Why do you need seed pods?"

"Oh, ah, they're very useful for quite a few things, actually. What does it matter? I simply need them and you shall accompany me!" He realized that might have sounded a bit harsh, so he added, more softly, "I need someone to carry the basket."

Belle was giving him an odd look, studying him with her intense blue eyes. It was making him very uncomfortable. "You can't carry a basket by yourself?"

"Of course I could, but that's what I have you for, Dearie!" He giggled again.

She was still eyeing him, and seemed amused. "Right. Yes." She smoothed her skirts. "So are we going now?"

"Huh? Oh, that. Yes, I suppose we are!" Why was she still giving him that funny look! It was very unsettling. "Get your cloak and meet me out front. We'll take the carriage." He flitted out of the room, leaving a curious Belle in his wake.

A few minutes later Belle appeared, a fawn-colored cloak about her shoulders, and they climbed into the carriage. Rumplestiltskin caught a whiff of her lightly perfumed hair as he held the door for her, and his breath caught in his throat. It had been many long years since he had been this close to a woman. Well, one that wasn't a sociopathic sorceress, anyway. He'd had his share of those to deal with. None of them had smelled like Belle, though. He rather thought her scent was the sweetest thing to ever tickle his nose. Like the aroma of a tea rose on a crisp spring day.

He gathered his wits with difficulty and took his seat opposite her. He hoped she couldn't tell how flustered he was. If she could, she didn't let on. She was nothing if not a lady, and a true lady always sought to put those around her at ease. "So," he heard her asking through the fog in his brain, "Were there not flowers on the castle grounds you could use?"

Such a clever girl. He had made a good choice with her. No doubt some other ladies he could have hired (blackmailed seemed such a harsh word) wouldn't have had sense to work a duster, much less make intelligent conversation. "Ah. No. It's a certain type of flower that grows in the wild. Delicate little thing, clothed in soft blue. Not unlike yourself, Dearie." A small blush crept into her cheeks and he was strangely pleased.

"What are they called?" Belle inquired.

"I've always known them as Blue Stars, but I'm sure they have many names," Rumplestiltskin answered.

Belle smiled, but once the conversation slacked she drifted back into a reverie. She stared out the window, a pensive look on her normally cheerful face. Rumplestiltskin took advantage of her distraction to study her. Tumbled brown locks offset strong cheekbones, and her skin was clear and light as if made of fine porcelain. The corners of her pretty pink mouth always seemed upturned slightly with a look of cat-that-stole-the-cream amusement. Her eyes, however, were her most striking feature; a bright and piercing aquamarine framed by thick, dark lashes. A man could get lost in those eyes. Luckily, he was not a man. The Dark One was impervious to womanly charms. He told himself he was merely appreciating her beauty; that it was simple curiosity as he pondered how it would feel to run his slender fingers through her silken tresses or have those long lashes trail butterfly kisses along the rough skin of his cheek.

A sudden bump in the road snapped them both from their daydreams and nearly tossed them into each other's lap. Belle grasped his arm tightly to keep from landing in the floor and he instinctively threw a hand out to protect her. She blushed and thanked him for his chivalry, then situated herself back onto her seat. He murmured a vague "Of course, Dearie," as he reveled in the warm feeling her hand had left on his arm. He could not shake a feeling of giddiness for the remainder of the ride.

Sensing they were near their destination, Rumplestiltskin stuck his head out the window and surveyed the landscape. "Oh! We're here!" He exclaimed with a giggle and an excited little clap of his hands. He knocked on the wall of the carriage, alerting the unseen driver to stop, then hopped out to hold the door. He may have been the Dark One, but he was still a gentleman. He gave a dramatic little bow and held out his hand. She took it gracefully and allowed him to assist her out of the carriage.

They were in a mostly open area, very green, and dotted with single large trees and small groves. He led Belle to one of these groves, where a blanket of small, powder-blue flowers covered the ground. "Forget-me-nots!" Belle gasped. She fell to her knees amidst the blooms, an enormous smile on her face. "My grandmother used to have these in her garden! She was very good with plants and found a way to cultivate them."

Rumplestiltskin was pleased with her happiness. "Forget-me-nots, eh?"

She looked up at him, still smiling. "She told me they were named so because of a legend."

"Oh?" he urged.

"Supposedly," Belle smirked, "a knight bent to pick one for his lover but the weight of his armor caused him to topple into the water. Before he drowned, he tossed the flower to her and pleaded, 'Forget me not!'"

Rumplestiltskin let out an amused giggle. "How utterly ridiculous! He should have known better!"

Belle grinned. "Indeed. Yet they became a symbol, worn to show a lover that they shan't be forgotten."

"How quaint," he stated, but not wanting to offend her, he added, "But sweet, I suppose, if you're into that sort of thing."

Belle gave him a peculiar look that caused a little twinge in his heart. "I would think most lovers wouldn't mind a token of affection from their dearest."

"Hmm," Rumplestiltskin said, rather flustered. "I suppose not."

Belle smiled and gave him a shy glance through thick lashes, then changed the subject. "So, do we start gathering them, then?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes," he said, waving his hands about. "Haven't lost the basket, have you, Dearie?" he teased.

"No, silly, it's right here." She held the basket up as proof.

"Very well," he answered and knelt in the flowers a couple feet away from her. "We really only need the pods, but you can pluck a few blossoms, if ya like. They make a very curious tea."

"Alright," Belle said, and began picking the tiny blue blossoms.

"No, no, not like that, Dear! Let me show you." Rumplestiltskin moved closer to her, then reached down into the blanket of flowers. "You grasp them like this, down on the stem, and then POP! That way you get the whole little stem and several flowers at once." He was afraid she might be offended at his correction, but as usual she took his advice with grace, seemingly pleased with the chance to learn something new. She plucked one on her own to show him she understood, and they carried on, picking flowers in the sunshine and having lazy conversation about the weather as if they were a courting couple.

For awhile, Rumplestiltskin almost forgot himself. Almost forgot about deals, and daggers, and darkness. For awhile, he almost felt like an ordinary man.

Suddenly, Belle yelped, and shook her hand wildly. "It stung me!" she explained, and waved at a sneaky little honeybee. "I haven't been stung since I was a child. I forgot how much it hurts."

"Let me see, Dearie," Rumplestiltskin implored, and gingerly took her hand. "Luckily for you, these flowers are good for treating small wounds," he said. "But first, we must remove the stinger. Do you trust me?" he asked her, curious to hear her answer.

She gave him a suspicious look, but surprised him with a firm "Yes." He let out a small giggle, then gently gripped her hand. "Hold still, love." He carefully ran a sharp nail along the stinger, pushing from the base outward. A couple tries, and the stinger slid out. "There, there, Dearie, all done! Now I'll make a poultice." Belle studied him as he worked, and it amused him. "You can help, if you'd like," he offered. "It's a simple dressing, no magic involved!"

She moved closer to him and he handed her a small mortar filled with pieces of the plant. "Hold the bowl and I'll crush, eh?" Rumplestiltskin asked. He mashed and pounded the plant until it was nearly a purée. "Quite simple, see?"

Belle nodded. "I helped my grandmother once. I was a little girl, five or six years old. She knew how to use plants for medicine and she was going to teach me. It was the last time I saw her." Her voice went low, and sad. "Some of her village thought she was a hedge witch, but she wasn't. She just knew things others did not, and it frightened them. My father thought it best I was kept away from her. She died suddenly a few months later."

Rumplestiltskin studied her carefully. "Suddenly. Hmm," he stated.

"Yes," was her simple reply, acknowledging his assumption. She sat down the mortar and he surprised her by reaching into the bowl himself, catching a small scoop of the poultice and applying it to her swollen finger. He was exceedingly gentle, so when her hand quivered a bit he knew it wasn't from pain... and his once-cold heart, already warmed by her presence, raced at the possibility that his touch actually pleased her in some way.

He would have gladly kept hold of her hand, but once the poultice was applied, he had no excuse to do so. When he let go, he felt strangely empty, as if abandoning some treasured thing. He tried to shake these feelings; told himself he was giving into false hope. No woman could love him. His wife hadn't loved him enough to stay with him, even before he was the Dark One, so he knew finding love with an innocent lass like Belle was hopeless. He had thought it possible, with Cora, and though she had some odd sense of affection for him, the only thing she truly loved was power. Regina had some type of respect for him, at least when he had began teaching her, but there were never any romantic feelings between them. Then, Zelena. She had thought herself in love with him, but she was only desperate for attention from anyone. No, he would never find true love, and he must never think otherwise or the pain would be unbearable. He would resign himself to accept whatever small affection Belle had for him -affection due no doubt to her own kind heart and not to any effort on his part- and be more than content to have even that from a woman such as her.

However, he knew that Belle's unfailing sweetness would make it difficult to keep his resolve. She was the sort of woman that enchanted men without even trying. She was far too respectable to be a flirt, yet her easy manners and considerate nature made a man feel that he was far more handsome and interesting than he actually was. It would be hard for any man to escape falling for her charm. Even a man as dark as he; a man who was hardly even a man at all until she came along.

"Rumple?" Her soft voice drew him out of his ponderings and he turned to look her in the face. "Thank you. The pain is nearly gone already," she said.

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Of course. You're welcome, Dearie." He briefly wondered what it would be like to call her something different... Darling... Sweetheart... No! Why were these thoughts coming unbidden! He was going to lose his mind if he couldn't get control over them. He had to get back to the castle; away from her and her sweet words and her warm glances. "If you're feeling better then, perhaps we can finish up here. We need to get back."

She looked a bit hurt at this abrupt change, and he felt a twinge of guilt, but he knew he must do this. Coming here was a mistake, and the bee sting was the least of it. "But we've hardly just arrived..."

"I know," he said quickly, "but I just remembered I have business to attend to." In his haste, he was yanking flowers out in careless clumps.

If Belle had one fault, it was an overabundance of curiosity. "What sort of business?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Exasperating girl! "Never you mind, Dearie, just finish up with the flowers."

She gave him a bit of a glare, but did as he asked. He supposed he had to give her credit; she wasn't one to just blindly accept whatever pathetic answer she was given. He felt certain he hadn't heard the last of her questioning, but at least she was willing to let it go for the time being.

The ride home was awkward to say the least. Neither of them spoke, and he rather thought Belle was sulking. Lovely. He had devised this outing to cheer her up, not make her even more despondent. He sighed aloud and Belle gave him a subtly accusatory look. He almost wanted to laugh. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they should just go ahead and get married if she was going to start glaring at him like that! Especially since she had managed to make him feel so guilty. "I'm sorry, Dearie," he heard himself saying, and was surprised at his own words. Since when did he make apologies? "I never meant to cut our outing short, but I had no choice." He wasn't sure she really believed that, but she gave him a small nod and seemed a bit less irritated at him.

When they arrived back at the Dark Castle, he held the door of the carriage open for her, and the castle door in turn. She thanked him politely as always, but there was little softness to her voice. She coolly inquired where she should set the basket of flowers. He said he'd take it and she asked if he needed her further. He did not, and she left for her chambers with only a curtsy and a forced smile.

It pained him for her to act this way, pained him further that it was his own fault, and pained him the most because it bothered him at all! He stomped into his laboratory and busied himself with the tedious work of removing the seed pods and petals from the stems. Normally such a task was nearly as effective as spinning to clear his mind -though not as enjoyable- but it was failing miserably this time. All he could think of was HER and it was driving him mad. The smell of her hair, the blue of her eyes, the charming way she laughed, the way her hand had felt in his own.

He left the flowers and stormed to his spinning wheel, his boots echoing through the halls. He spun furiously, trying desperately to get her out of his head, but no matter how hard he peddled, his mind was spinning faster than the wheel. He felt something damp on his face and realized that he was crying. Crying over a woman! Crying because she was everything to him and he could be nothing to her! Crying because he realized he loved her but would never, ever be her lover. It was a cruel twist of fate that he had brought her here for his amusement but now would suffer unimaginably. He supposed he deserved it, but that didn't make it any easier. If anything, it made it worse because that meant it was all his fault. He collapsed into a heap next to the wheel, sobbing uncontrollably onto his leather jerkin.

Rumplestiltskin never heard her approaching. Even when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, he barely realized she was there. Only when he felt her quickly beating heart against his ear did he understand. She had heard his sobs, had felt his pain, had come to comfort him! He clung to her then, wringing the folds of her dress in his hands as he wept, staining her bodice with his tears. She was so warm and gentle and he felt safer than he had ever felt in his life.

After what seemed an eternity of bliss, he pulled away from her. Gently, so as not to offend her. He knew he should feel ashamed -and angry with himself- but somehow her warm smile calmed him. She gently stroked his hair and laughed lightly. "It's alright, Rumple. Your secret is safe with me." He nearly panicked, thinking she knew how he felt about her, but then she said, "I won't tell anyone that the big, scary Dark One has a softer side." He couldn't help but smirk a little, and as she helped him to his feet, he had a revelation. Maybe she would never be his lover, but she was certainly trying to be his friend, and what right did he have to throw her generosity away. She was a deeply empathetic person and it would be cruel not to oblige her sentiments. From now on, he would try to suppress his feelings for her, but he would not shut her out.

"Belle," he said, nervously straightening his vest. "I- uh- Thank you. You have been far too kind to me, and I must apologize for my behavior this afternoon." He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you what is troubling me, Dearie, but I am truly grateful for your -he struggled for a word- assistance."

She grinned at him and curtsied dramatically. "You are most welcome!" There was a moment of awkward silence, then she confessed, "I should apologize as well." Rumplestiltskin quirked a brow. "I should not have been upset with you. You are not obliged to explain anything to me. I forgot my place."

Your place, he wanted to say, is here, in my arms, forever; but he knew it would never be. So he gave her a more acceptable reply. "It's quite alright, Dearie. I wouldn't have you walking around on eggshells, afraid to voice an opinion and whatnot. I wanted a cleaning girl, not an obedient dog."

She smirked at him. "Okay. Thank you, but I will still try not to pry so much."

Though he secretly thought he might actually miss her nosiness, he nodded his acknowledgment and asked if she'd join him for dinner that evening. She happily consented and excused herself to go freshen up. He sighed wistfully and went back to his study to work on the abandoned flowers.

After a dinner of roast mutton and carrots, he asked Belle to join him for a tea he'd made from the Forget-me-nots. She agreed, of course, so they shared idle conversation on the veranda, sipping tea from a pristine cup and a chipped cup, respectively. "I had an ulterior motive in taking you with me today," he confessed after a time.

"Oh?" He knew she was hiding a smirk behind the teacup. The little scamp had known he was up to something.

"You seemed... melancholy. I merely sought a way to cheer you up. No doubt a cheerful maid cleans more thoroughly." He shrugged, attempting to sound indifferent.

"Hmm. Well, it worked. At least until that bee decide to join us," Belle laughed.

He narrowed his eyes. "Pesky things, bees."

"Yes, but without them: no flowers!"

She always saw the bright side of things, didn't she? "True," he conceded. "Why were you so melancholy anyway?" he asked. No sense hiding behind pretenses now.

"I wasn't. I was just feeling a little nostalgic." She toyed with a string on her dress.

"Over...?" Now he was prying.

She picked at her skirts and refused to look him in the eye, but she finally admitted, "Today's my birthday."

"Oh." Rumplestiltskin was not expecting that. In fact, he had been the Dark One for so long, he'd stopped counting his own birthdays. "I... didn't know." He felt strangely sad, and a little guilty.

She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "It's fine. You couldn't have known, and I didn't really want to say anything..."

Because you'd make me feel uncomfortable, he said to himself. His heart was aching. Why did she have to be so good? So selfless? Why had he chosen this particular girl to clean the Dark Castle? Why did his choices always end in heartbreak? He had seen her, once or twice at the market, and marveled at her beauty. So, when the call for help had come from her father, he had seized the opportunity to claim the pretty little China doll for his own amusement. Yet, she wasn't a toy at all, but a real woman with real feelings, and now he'd be forced to deal with his suppressed desires as well as guilt from ruining her life. Worse still: he wasn't nearly as selfless as she, and he wondered if he'd have the strength to stay out of her life even if he could change the past. Even now, he could release her from their deal, but he wasn't sure he could bear to never see her again. He knew that if you truly loved someone you should let them go, let them choose their own happiness; but he had already let everyone he'd ever loved slip through his fingers. No, she would stay with him, at least until he could find the strength to go on without her. He would, however, strive to treat her a little more carefully. Starting now. "Ya know what? I'll be back in a moment, Dearie." He started back into the castle, but remembering his manners, he paused in the doorway, "Stay here, it will only take a moment."

When he returned, he was hiding something behind his back, and Belle noticed instantly. "What is that?" she asked, trying to peek around him like a curious child.

Grinning mischievously, he held out a gorgeous bouquet of Forget-me-nots. Belle gasped, her eyes wide, and he felt, well, happy. "I did a little, ya know- he made a silly little flourish- MAGIC, so they won't wilt. Ever. Or for a very, very long time at least."

"Oh, Rumple!" Belle exclaimed as she fussed over the beautiful arrangement. "You didn't have to do this! I never meant-"

He held up a hand to cut her off. "I know. I just wanted to." She smiled sweetly at him and he thought he'd melt. He really was going soft. "Now, I know we aren't 'lovers,'" he said teasingly, "but I hope you'll think of me when you see these, nonetheless."

Belle's face lit up and she threw her arms around him so fast he nearly toppled over. What she said, though, was what truly sent him reeling. "Of course I'll think of you! But even without them, I could never forget you." He would have collapsed if she hadn't been holding onto him.

After that, things were never quite the same between them, but there was nothing "romantic" until that fateful day he finally found the strength to let her go. She had gone, then come back, and he had felt like he could fly. Then, she'd kissed him, and everything had went to hell. He had panicked, had let every fear and doubt overcome him. It wasn't that he valued his power more than her, even she had known that. It was that he was too much of a coward to accept what she had been trying to show him all along: that she loved him. So he lost her, the only woman who had ever truly loved him.

When Regina had informed him of Belle's death, he had nearly gone insane with rage and despair and guilt. After he calmed down, after he had placed their chipped cup in it's special place, he had retired for the night; but not to his bedroom, HERS. He had collapsed onto her bed, breathing in her sweet scent from the bedclothes and weeping until his head ached as much as his heart.

In his torment, he did not notice until morning that the bouquet he had given her still set atop her dresser. When he did, he wept some more, and removed one of the tiny blue flowers. He sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, holding the blossom in his hand. Eventually, he reached into his chest and pulled out his own beating heart. He examined it for a moment, then the flower. He closed his eyes and pressed the two objects together. A soft blue glow engulfed them for a few moments. When the light faded, he inspected the heart, and smiled wanly as he traced the outline of the single blue Forget-me-not melded into it. "Oh, Belle," he sighed. "Even without this, I could never forget you; but as you said, every lover needs a token of affection to be remembered by. I had your heart -I know that now- but I let it go, and so I only have this... and our chipped cup." He thrust the heart back into his chest.

The rest of the bouquet would wilt now, the enchantment broken when he had removed the single blossom. He left them, the rest of the Forget-me-nots, and magically sealed off her room. He knew if he did not, he'd waste away grieving for her there. He strode solemnly to his study and brewed himself some tea. He drank it on the veranda, but not from the chipped cup, and not with Belle.

**FIN.**

**_The ending is a bit sad, but we know how it all works out! ;)_**


End file.
